The Fangs of Fitzrovia
by cestrumnocturnum9
Summary: The year is 1888 and eleven year old Will Davis discovers that he is a wizard! He is given a place in Hogwarts Schoool of Witchcraft and Wizardry and enters a world of magic, mudbloods and mystery. New chapter every Sunday evening/Monday morning. In collaboration with Romanian Longhorn4
1. Prologue

Will stared at the blank sheet of paper.

As he rummaged in his brain for something, anything, useful, the only thing he could find were errant thoughts and questions. Why was he doing this? What good could possibly come of it? How should he ever hope to find the right words?

He sighed and picked up his glass of water. As he sipped from it, he stared out of the window, at the endless and bleak fields of wheat. Ah, England. What dullness besieged his senses after the wonders he was used to back in Sydney… But of course he knew that these dreary surroundings masked wonders that could rival any offered by Australia.

As his gaze turned back to the table, he considered the thick copy of today's _Daily Prophet_. 'MINISTER FOR MAGIC LAUNCHES PLANNED REFORMS', the headline screamed. Underneath was a picture of a young woman surrounded by reporters. As Will watched, her lips moved silently and she waved her hands animatedly.

Will grinned fondly and placed the glass on the table. His fingers rested on the typewriter and, after a brief moment of hesitation, jumped into action.

 _It all began when I discovered that I could do magic_. _This discovery led me on a path of friendship_ , _wonder and eventually the strange case of the vampire Sir Herbert Varney_.

 _The year was 1888 and on a fateful July evening_ , _I heard a knock on the door_.

There was a knock on the door.

Will started and after looking at the door suspiciously for a moment, stood up slowly and opened it.

"Tracey!"

They hugged tightly and Will stepped aside to let her pass.

"Can I get you anything? Tea? Coffee?"

"Just water's fine."

She followed him into the small kitchen as he crossed over to the sink.

"This place is… sparse."

"It's just a temporary escape. I quite like it here, though. It reminds me of my place back in Sydney."

Tracey sighed. "You've been gone for so long… I thought I'd lost you to Australia for good."

"It's only been a few years. I needed to get away from Britain. And from the magical world."

"What made you come back?"

Will shrugged but the corners of his mouth twitched. "I guess I got bored."

Tracey smiled. "How are the twins?

"Playing outside. As ever."

Tracey accepted the glass, running a finger across its side in a manner reminiscent of her sister. "And how are you?"

Will shrugged again. "Fine." But even as he said it, he could feel his eyes becoming wet, confronted so suddenly by this familiar face from his past. He blinked several times.

Tracey looked out of the window, giving him a moment to compose himself.

"What about you?" asked Will after a moment. "How's work treating you?"

"It's all right. Busy, I suppose. Haven't been able to see the kids as much this summer as I would have liked." There was an awkward pause in the conversation.

"So," said Tracey, "what have you been getting up to in this… escape?"

Will snorted. "I've been trying to write, actually."

"Really? Write what?"

"Something about the vampire. All those years ago."

Tracy's eyes lighted up in surprise. "That's unexpected! Can I see?"

"I'm not getting anywhere. I don't know what I'm doing, to be honest. Or what I'm trying to say."

Tracey considered this for a moment. "Well, are you trying to write about the vampire? Or about… yourself?"

"I guess both. Or maybe neither. I don't… I don't know… I just wanted to capture that first year. I guess maybe the vampire was just something to focus on."

"It makes for a great story. So why are you struggling?"

"I can't write it. Every time I try to write about what my own experiences were, what I felt and so on, it just feels… wrong."

"Why?"

Will shook his head in frustration, trying to find the right _words_.

"My voice just sounds stupid. On paper. I always sound like a jerk." He laughed bitterly. "So much for being a student of literature."

Tracey pursed her lips and thought for a moment. "You're doing this to remember her, right?"

Will flinched, then nodded. "I need to do something… But I just don't know how. I thought writing was something I could do, could even do well. And yet…"

"Then the answer is simple. Don't try to write _as_ yourself. Write _about_ yourself."

"What do you mean?" asked Will with a frown.

"Write about it all like a story. Like you're writing about someone else." Tracey smiled suddenly. "You shouldn't stop with one book either. This is good. It's good for you; it's good for both of us. Don't just capture your experience. Capture her experience. Capture all of your experiences. You have a pensieve, don't you?"

"But… Tracey, I can't even write two sentences without hating myself."

"Just describe what you see! It's nothing more, Will. The words will speak for themselves."

"I just _can't_."

"Yes, you can. You have to," said Tracey passionately. "Seven years full of excitement, right? There were seven of you, weren't there? You, Eloise, Gwen, Cait, Phineas, Thomas and Sia. One for each."

"It's their lives too. There's so much that's… personal. Private."

"Ask them. I'm sure they'll be fine with it, even support you."

"And what about…" Will's voice broke, unable to finish the sentence.

Tracey put down the glass of water. "I'll be back in a minute."

And without any warning, she disappeared with a loud crack. Will flinched. In this little refuge, not much magic usually entered. He waited, leaning against the kitchen counter, until Tracey appeared again out of thin air, now carrying a box.

"Diaries," she said by way of explanation.

Will stared at them with a singular intensity he rarely mustered these days. "I can't…"

"You can. And you will."

"I told you about all this not even ten minutes ago, and now you're pushing me into something I didn't even plan in the first place?"

"Yes, I am. This is the way you can heal, Will. It's perfect. Also…" - she paused for just a second - "I want to read the books. It's a tribute to her." Tracey threw down the box and grasped Will's hands tightly. "I need to have something. I need to find her again in you."

Will met her pleading gaze and sighed, knowing he could not deny Tracey this. As the enormity of his task threatened to overwhelm him, he said, "So the first book from my perspective? Or… writing about my perspective?"

Tracey smiled and nodded. "It feels like the right place to start."

Will reached into his pocket and withdrew the familiar stick. His faithful wand. He gave it a lazy wave and a drawer opened. From inside, a bowl with black, inky liquid floated out and came to rest just above the counter.

"I might as well get going," he said and put the wand to his temple. When he took it away again, he drew with it a thin silvery thread that he brought away from his head, staring at it for a moment before depositing it into the bowl with a snap of his wrist. As murky figures emerged, saying inaudible words, he bent forward, before turning to Tracey.

"You want to come?"

Tracey hesitated. "Are you sure?"

"I wouldn't be doing this without you, so you might as well. We're going on a journey."

And with that, Will bent his head forward and disappeared in the depths of his memories.


	2. Chapter 1 - The Soldier's Son

"You can lie down now," said Will. "Come on."

He led his mother to the bed and she almost fell onto it. She had been poorly this whole trip and Will could not help but worry as he tucked her in.

"Are you warm enough?" asked Will.

"Yes," said his mother softly.

He squeezed her hand and smiled. "Well I'm not. This country has dreadful weather even in summer."

His mother smiled too, her eyes half-closed. "You'll get used to it. Go help your father unpack."

He nodded and left, thinking that it was very unlikely indeed that he would "get used to it". In truth, he doubted that he would ever like this rainy country his parents considered home.

Will Davis had recently celebrated his eleventh birthday on the journey from New Zealand to England. It was there that his father had been recently stationed and it was there that Will had spent all of his childhood. But after his father had returned from the campaign in the South African Republic, it had been announced to them that they were to travel to London, where Private Davis would be stationed in Knightsbridge Barracks for the last few years of his career.

Although Will had barely arrived in England, he disliked the country fervently. The weather was dreary and the people miserable. Though one would think boiled meat rations should taste the same in most places, even the food was worse here and unendurably bland. And now, as far as Will was concerned, this wretched country was draining his mother of her health.

And so, as he got used to these unfamiliar barracks over the next week, Will preferred spending time on the balcony looking out on the parade-ground or inside tending to his mother to seeking out the other children. He did not take the time to frequent the playground on the roof of the lodgings, thinking himself too old for such things anyway. Instead, with his mother ill, he washed clothes and cleaned the flat to prepare for the inspections as his father went to drills or performed other duties. As he sat next to his mother's bedside, he used her equipment to mend the clothes that had gotten torn on the journey, taken special care with his father's uniform. She sometimes watched him work but mostly slept, her even breathing calming Will.

He grinned as he extended a forefinger and - after a moment's hesitation - the needle rose and hovered in midair.

"You're doing it again."

Will jumped and realised that his mother was awake after all. The needle clattered to the floor.

"I'm sorry. I can't help it."

"I know you can't. Just… be careful."

Will looked at his mother, frowning. "I wish I could do something useful with it."

His mother smiled gently. "You don't have to do anything." There was the sound of a door opening and closing loudly. "You should, however, ask your father whether he needs help with anything."

Will stood up reluctantly, placing the clothes aside, and left his mother. If only all things were as easy as making a needle hover.

Private Davis, having come back from a drill, greeted Will with a nod. "How's your mother?"

"The same," said Will. "Do you need help with anything?"

"No. Listen, William, why don't you go outside and find some of the other children?"

Will scrunched up his face. He would have much preferred a word of praise for the cleanliness of the sitting room. "I might later. I was wondering, father, whether you know how long we'll be here."

"What do you mean?" asked Private Davis.

The boy took a somewhat nervous breath and pressed on. "In England."

"Forever, I think. I'm an old hat - I'll retire soon."

"So we won't go back to New Zealand?"

Davis scowled. "No. This is our real home, not some colony. You'd do well to remember that, boy."

There was a tense silence before Will sighed. "Well, I'd better go and meet some people then."

"You'd better."

In truth, Will had no intention of finding children or meeting people. Instead, he headed to the barrack's library. The sight of the boy with dark brown hair and heavy eyelids swiftly and assuredly seeking out books was not one familiar to the men of the barracks but they would have to get used to it. Will read everything he could get his hands on and he had done so for years. As he let his hands run across the books, his nose taking in the familiar scents of old parchment and dust, his eyes alighted on a book he had seen many soldiers read: _The heir of Redclyffe_. The only problem was that it was out of his reach. He jumped in a futile attempt to try to grab it. Then, he reached out with his hand. After a moment's hesitation, the book quivered and floated gently into his hand. The boy shivered in excitement, surprised that it had worked.

For as long as Will could remember, _strange_ things had happened all around him. At first, he simply could not do anything about it.

Like when he was five and he and his mother had gone out for a walk while the soldiers were at a drill. There had been a rather high wall with a few handy footholds that Will has scaled, despite his mother's protestations. When he reached the top, he stood up and started walking as his mother shouted at him to come down, 'you little idiot'. Then, at a particularly high point, a loose stone had caught him off guard and he stumbled. His mother had screamed as he quivered on the edge for a moment. But instead of falling to a broken leg, he descended gently, almost as if he were floating. When he reached the ground, he jumped back up lightly as his mother watched in confusion and fear. When she demanded an explanation, Will could only say that the air must have acted as a pillow. His mother was not satisfied by this answer.

And then another time, when he was seven, his father had tried to take a book that Will was currently reading away from him. They engaged in a surprisingly prolonged struggle for a grown soldier fighting with a boy. His father grabbed at Will's hand in frustration, then suddenly yelped in pain. When he drew back his fingers, Will saw that they were blistered. Somehow, his skin had become so hot as to burn his father. Private Davis sternly admonished Will and burnt the book as punishment while the boy cried, then never mentioned the incident again. And when his mother once again wanted an explanation, Will told her that he had been reading in bed and must have absorbed too much heat from the blanket. He would never forget his mother's look of utter incredulity.

But it had not stopped with those incidents and in the years since then, Will had learnt to heat his food when it was cold and had now even developed the ability to move things without touching them.

How any of this was possible was a mystery to Will. All he knew was that his parents were unhappy when he did these things, seeming troubled at these skills outside of their comprehension, and thus he had learned to hide them. This did not stop him from constantly testing what he could do and trying to learn new skills. He might not understand it, whatever _it_ was, but it was still something that could not help but thrill him.

For now, he sat on the floor with the newly acquired copy of _The heir of Redclyffe_. He flipped to the first page and started reading.

 _The drawing-room of Hollywell House was one of the favoured apartments, where a peculiar air of home seems to reside, whether seen in the middle of summer, all its large windows open to the garden, or, as when our story commences, its bright fire and stands of fragrant green-house plants contrasted with the wintry fog and leafless trees of November._

It was several hours before Will looked up. He realised with some regret that it was growing late and thus replaced the book as he had taken it, another thrill of excitement running through him, then made his way out of the library. It was early summer and the days were at their longest so it was still fairly light as he made his way in the direction of the apartments where married privates lived.

All of a sudden, his path was blocked by three boys around his age. Will faced them with an odd sense of trepidation.

"Can I help you?" he asked.

"You can, freak," said the boy in the middle. He was squinting intensely at Will with small, piggish eyes.

"We saw you in the library," said the boy in the left, the tallest of the three.

"What were you doing there?" asked Will as his heart beat faster.

"Following you."

"Wondered why a little runt like you wanted to go to the library," said the blonde-haired boy on the right.

"And you know what we saw?" said the piggish boy in the middle.

"Books, I imagine," said Will.

"You moved a book without touching it," the middle boy continued. "What did you do, freak?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Liar," said the tall boy.

"Liar," echoed the blonde one.

"I'm really not," said Will. "You must have seen things wrongly."

"All three of us?" asked the middle boy and stepped uncomfortably close to Will. He realised that he was shorter than all of them. "You think we're blind?"

"No."

"Just show us how you did it."

"I don't know what you mean."

"Show us," said the boy and took another step forward, forcing Will to step back. The other two advanced and echoed the middle one in a low murmur: "Show us. Show us. Show us. Show us."

Will stepped back again, fear rising in him as his hand shook - and then the boys tripped, the tall one and the middle one falling over. He turned and started walking away quickly but the blonde boy grabbed his arm.

"How did you do that?"

The other two boys stood up and surround him, the piggy-eyed one giving him a shove.

"You knocked us over."

"Please, leave me alone," said Will.

The tall one shoved him, hard. Will fell backwards and landed on the ground hard, his eyes stinging. The piggy boy kicked him in the side as terror mounted in Will.

"Freak!"

"Just leave me alone," he mumbled as another boy kicked him.

"Freak!"

They kept kicking him. He just wanted to get away. He wanted to get back home. Why could these boys not just stop _bothering_ him? Why could they not just go away?

A wave of heat passed through Will and all of the boys fell on their backs. He looked at them in shock: he had not touched them. But he instantly jumped on his feet and looked down as the boys as they tried to regain their bearing. Clenching his fists, he looked down at them.

"You'll tell no one of this," he said. "If you ever come near me again, or bother me in any way, I'll make sure something far worse happens to you."

He raised his hand and the three boys flinched. After hesitating for a moment, he dropped his hand and turned around, walking away.

Only when he was out of sight from the boys did he start shaking in shock and fear. How could he have been so careless? Why had the boys attacked him so viciously? He looked at his shivering hand. What was wrong with him?

Will could feel his eyes growing wet but he tried to suppress the hot tears, but a single one rolled down his cheek as he ran home. When he reached the door, he paused for a moment, wiping away the tear and trying to compose himself, then entered.

His father stalked towards him the moment he had crossed the threshold.

"You missed the inspection. Where the hell have you been?"

"I was -" said Will, then came to a halt, unable to form coherent words.

His father regarded him with sudden concern. "Are you all right? Did something happen?"

"I'm fine."

"You don't look it. You're as pale as a sheet."

"I said I'm fine."

"William…"

But Will did not have to answer again. For at that moment, there was a knock at the door.


	3. Chapter 2 - The Deputy Head

Will and his father looked at it each other for a moment. Then, Private Davis stepped past his son and opened the door.

In the doorway stood a tall man with a thin face and dark eyes. He wore a neat, polished suit and a warm smile as his eyes travelled from father to dishevelled son.

"Excuse me," he said, "are you Mister Davis?"

Will's father frowned. "Private Davis."

The man nodded. "And this is your son, William?" he asked, gesturing at the boy.

A sudden burst of terror rushed through Will as he wondered whether the boys had already reported him. What would the punishment be? Would they want to know how he had done it? An even worse thought crossed Will's mind: would they take him away from his family?

Will's father hesitated, before saying, "Yes, he is."

"Right," said the man as his smile widened. "I am Professor Quentin Trimble and I am here to offer your son a place at Hogwarts."

"What?" said Will before he could stop himself, so surprised by what the man had said. "I mean… Excuse me? What's Hogwarts?"

"Hogwarts is a school for people who are special," said Trimble.

"Have I done something wrong?" asked Will, not reassured by the man's answer.

"This is not a school for children who do something wrong," said Trimble. "It is a school for children who can do magic."

There was a brief silence.

"What is this rubbish?" asked Will's father. "Is this some kind of joke?"

"I assure you, Private Davis, this is no joke. We have only very recently found out that a new magical child has entered Britain, and just in time, I might add."

"There must be something wrong," said Will uncertainly. "I'm not magical."

"Really? Because you must have done some clear magic just a few hours ago for the quill to pick it up."

"The… quill?"

Trimble's eyes sparkled as he launched into an explanation. "There is a quill that detects the birth of magical children in Britain - or indeed when young witches and wizards display magic for the first time within these borders. It notes the name and date of birth into a book that lies in Hogwarts, which only accepts children that have shown a sufficient level of magic. Just a few hours ago, a colleague of mine happened to spot a new name written into the book. It was your name, Will Davis."

"This is ridiculous," said Will's father. "Please leave this flat immediately."

"Perhaps a little proof is in order?" said the man in a mild tone of voice, and reached into his pocket. As the other two watched tensely, he drew out a thin stick that he held loosely before giving it a light wave. To Will's amazement, from the tip of the stick erupted a bird - a raven - that swooped around the room once before resting on a chair with a disgruntled _caw_.

Private Davis stared at the beady-eyed raven. "How… how…. Are you some kind of street charlatan?"

"Simply a wizard," said Trimble as he waved his wand again. A mug on the table grew legs and started dancing on the table. With another wave, the legs disappeared and the mug rested on the table again as if nothing had happened. "As is your son. Which is why he has a place at Hogwarts."

"I'm… a wizard?"

Trimble turned to Will, making the boy flinch slightly. "I think you know the answer to that yourself already."

Will's mind flashed back to all the times strange things had happened around him - just today, when he had used these odd powers first on a book then a few boys… That had been magic? It seemed too absurd a possibility, the kind of thing Will would have instantly discounted, but… "And you're a teacher at… Hogwarts?"

Trimble nodded briskly. "The deputy headmaster in fact - or one of them, anyway. And the professor for Defence Against the Dark Arts, one of the subjects taught at Hogwarts." He reached into his coat and withdrew a letter, which he handed to Will. "This is your acceptance letter."

Will opened the letter and removed the first sheet of paper.

It read:

 _Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

 _Headmistress: Eupraxia Mole_

 _Dear Mr Davis,_

 _We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment._

 _Term begins on 2 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July._

 _Yours sincerely,_

 _Quentin Trimble & Lana Farley_

 _Deputy Headmasters_

"What does it mean, 'We await your owl'?" asked Will.

"Don't worry about that," said Trimble. "If you accept your place, I'll pass it on to the headmaster when I return to Hogwarts."

"But he can't go," said Will's father.

"Why not?" asked Trimble.

"Because this is… This… It's preposterous. He's my son, not some trickster taught in smoke and mirrors."

"Private Davis, I understand that it is hard for you to accept. It's always that way with muggles -"

"What's a muggle?" interjected Will instantly.

"A non-magical person. As I was saying, while it might be hard for you to accept, this is the right thing for your son. In Hogwarts he can learn how to control and use his gifts. He will be among kids like him and be taught by some of the very best teachers this country has to offer, masters in their disciplines. William would be well looked after."

"How do you even know he's a… a wizard?"

Trimble sighed. "I explained the book and the quill to you, but perhaps it would be best to ask William himself whether he thinks he has ever produced something that might be called magic. Anything strange happen when you're particularly excited, angry… or scared?"

Will swallowed as both adults turned to look at him. "I think… Sometimes maybe," he said slowly, "things happen that I can't explain. I can move things without touching them. Or make things heat up when I want them to." Out of the corner of his eye, Will saw his father shudder as a memory rose to the surface. Blistered fingers letting go of Will all those years ago…

Trimble looked pensively at the two. "At Hogwarts, you can master the magic you have already discovered within yourself. Having any amount of control at your age is remarkable, but there is a lot for you still to learn. If you accept."

"And am I expected to pay for all of this?" asked Will's father in a strained voice.

"Not to worry, tuition is free and there's a fund available for students with non-magical parents so that they can buy everything they need," said Trimble. "And if you want to, Gringott's, the wizarding bank, offers exchanges between wizard and muggle money."

"There's a wizarding bank?" asked Will quickly.

Trimble smiled gently. "Most things muggles have, we have a version of too."

"Oh," said Will, trying to think of something to say. He realised that the raven was still sitting there, staring beadily at him. "Is there a wizard's army too?"

Trimble gave him a rather curious look before answering. "Not anything like what you're imagining. There are… fighting forces, I suppose, when times of conflict arrive."

"So there are wizarding wars?" asked Will, the words escaping him without control. "Wait, is that related to what you teach? _Defence Against the Dark Arts_ … Is that about fighting… bad wizards?"

The professor fixated him with a steely-eyed stare and Will shrunk slightly, wondering whether he had asked inappropriate questions. "There are indeed wizarding wars. And my subject does involve protection against dark magic in all its forms, whether in spells, creatures or yes, even people. But perhaps we should return to the matter at hand."

The tone of voice was mild, but bore unmistakeable authority. Will swallowed and nodded.

"Good. Before we proceed any further, I must ask the crucial question. Do you want to accept your place at Hogwarts?"

Will looked quickly at his father, whose eyes were blank. "I… Do I have time to think about this?"

"Not really, I'm afraid. If you commit to entering the wizarding world, it is better for you to do it without regret. And alas, I do not have enough time on my hands to seek out children on multiple occasions until they reach decisions."

Will took a deep breath. "I mean… It's not that I don't want to go. But I can't go if my father isn't all right with it." He looked pleadingly at his father, willing him to say something.

At last, Private Davis stirred. "If he goes to this… school, will we ever see him again?"

"Of course. He will return each summer and, if he wishes to, over Christmas and Easter too."

"And will he still be the boy I raised when he returns?"

As Trimble and Davis exchanged a tense look, Will shivered. Eventually, Trimble said, "Whether you know your son so little that you would not recognise him after only a few months tuition I really could not say."

"It won't be only tuition though, will it?"

"No, there is indeed a range of extracurricular activities that your son could take advantage of if he chooses to accept."

"Where is this school anyway? In England?"

"The location of Hogwarts is a closely guarded secret for understandable reasons. Suffice it to say that it is somewhat to the north of England."

Davis' nose wrinkled. "In Scotland? Does our government know that young boys are being asked to join some secret… cabal?"

"The Prime Minister of the day is indeed informed to some degree of the… going-ons."

"So why doesn't he do anything to stop it?"

Trimble's lip curled into a rather unpleasant sneer. "I'm afraid he does not have much say over the matter either way. Not that I see how this subject has any bearing on your son's education."

"It matters what kind of people I'm entrusting my son with."

"Then will you let him accept?"

"I'll let him make his own decisions. I've raised him to become a man who can take responsibility for his actions," said Davis proudly, for some reason making Will feel very ashamed of himself.

The two men turned to Will. He thought of the letter he was still clutching in one hand. He thought of the boys earlier. And he thought of his mother, lying ill upstairs. How could he leave her? Then again… Couldn't magic fix everything?

How could he forgive himself if he went?

How could he forgive himself if he didn't?

"I want to go," said Will, hearing the words leave his mouth as if uttered by a stranger. He instantly looked at his father, who paled and looked down in resignation. A pang of guilt shot through him.

Trimble nodded briskly. "Excellent. Then if you so choose, I will accompany you tomorrow to buy your school supplies. The letter you are holding also has a list of the things you will need."

"Where can you buy… magical things?"

"In London. Do you wish me to help you find your way?"

Will hesitated, then nodded.

"Good. I will return here at ten in the morning to pick you up. Do you have any questions?"

"How exactly will he travel to this school?" asked Will's father. "Magic carpet?'

"No," said Trimble with a thin smile, "the train." He pointed the stick at the raven and with a small _poof_ , it disappeared. "Anything else?"

"I don't think so," said Will.

"Then I shall be collecting you tomorrow."

The man gave each of them a curt nod and, without another word, strode to the door **.**

After he left, there was a moment of silence. Will and his father looked each other. He could not think of anything to say. His father seemed to be struggling as well.

"Are you really fine with this?" asked Will eventually, and even as the words left his mouth they sounded incredibly stupid. He gulped and regarded his father with trepidation.

The man brought his hands together and wrung them nervously. "No. I mean… No. How could I be? Are you sure this is what you want?"

"No. But I feel like I have to try."

There was more silence until Will awkwardly passed his father to go to where his mother lay. She was shivering slightly.

"Should I get you another blanket?"

"I'm fine, dear. Who was in there just now?"

Will sat down on his mother's bed. "I'm not sure you'll believe me."

"I think I might be sick enough to believe anything," his mother said with a throaty laugh. "Go on, just tell me."

He read the letter to her.

"What is this, Will?"

"It was given to me by a man who came. He offered me a place at this… school. He's taking me tomorrow to get supplies."

"A school of magic? You're a… wizard?"

Will met his mother's eyes, trying to figure out how she was reacting. "Apparently."

"Well, I suppose that shouldn't be a surprise."

Will frowned. "What?"

"You've always been able to do strange things." To his surprise, she smiled. "This is all rather exciting, isn't it?"

"I'll be gone for much of the year. In Scotland."

"But you want to go, don't you?"

"I don't know. I mean…"

"Will."

He bit his lip. "I guess I do. This will change everything. It's magic! Whatever's wrong with you, I can -"

"No, Will," his mother interrupted him gently. "That's not why you're going." With some effort, she stretched her hand and tapped his nose. "I hope you become a brilliant wizard. You'll have to tell me all about it, of course."


	4. Chapter 3 - The Leaky Cauldron

The next morning when his father had already left, Will rushed out at ten o'clock sharp. He was curious as to how they would get where they had to go - it struck him that he did not know how Professor Trimble had gotten into the barracks in the first place.

Trimble was leaning against the wall just outside. When he saw Will, he straightened.

"Ah, Mister Davis. Ready for your big trip, I hope?"

Will nodded eagerly.

"Now, in truth I am not meant to use magic to travel when I am with you. Something about underage muggle-raised children and the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy… However, we must make a small exception in this case to spirit ourselves just outside of the barracks."

"How can we do that? Sir?" asked Will.

Trimble smiled thinly. "Would you be so kind as to hold onto my left arm?"

Curious, Will did as he was told and held the man's arm firmly.

And suddenly, the world disappeared and was replaced by a black mass pressing him from every direction at once, squeezing him through a tiny space, crushing his skull and wrenching at his eyeballs and tearing at his limbs. He could not breathe, he could not move even as he felt himself being ripped in an uncertain direction, the only thing he was conscious of was that his hand still grasped the professor's arm.

Just as suddenly, it stopped and the world reappeared but it was different. They were no longer outside of the private's apartment and instead had somehow left the barracks - Will was just able to perceive this as he staggered to one side, his insides screaming as he made several retching sounds.

"There now, boy, it's over."

After a few seconds, Will straightened to see Trimble looking down at him sympathetically.

"Sorry about that. It's better not to warn people - terrifies them so much that they might let go."

"What was that?" croaked Will.

"Apparition. We moved instantly from one place to another."

"Do they teach that at Hogwarts?"

"Only late in your school career, and only if you want to. Not a very pleasant experience, is it?"

Will shook his head.

"Come on now, there's our cab!"

He turned to see a horse-drawn carriage wait for them. Why exactly they could not just have _apparated_ to where they needed to go was beyond Will but it probably had something to do with the 'International Statue of Wizarding Secrecy', whatever that was… He got on after Trimble as the man muttered a destination to their driver.

"Have you looked at the list of the things you need yet?" asked Trimble as the cab started moving.

Will nodded.

"Could you get out the letter?"

Will did so and once again looked at the second page. It read:

 _UNIFORM_

 _First-year students will require:_

 _1\. Three sets of plain work robes (black)_

 _2\. One set of formal robes (dark blue)_

 _3\. One plain pointed hat (black) for day wear_

 _4\. One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide)_

 _5\. One winter cloak (black, with silver fastenings)_

 _COURSE BOOKS_

 _All students should have a copy of each of the following:_

 _An Introduction to Charms by Tangwystl Pennifold_

 _Spellwork Simplified by Cuthbert Felbrigg_

 _An Overview of Magical History by Peregrine Jewkes_

 _Magical Theory by Adalbert Waffling_

 _Understanding Transfiguration by Thomasine Winstringham_

 _One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi by Phyllida Spore_

 _A Beginner's Guide to Potions by Lettice Cantilupe_

 _The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection by Quentin Trimble_

 _Astronomy for Amateurs by Sigrith Maynwaring_

 _OTHER EQUIPMENT_

 _1 wand_

 _1 cauldron (pewter, standard size 2)_

 _1 standard potion kit bag_

 _1 set glass or crystal phials_

 _1 telescope_

 _1 set scales (brass)_

 _Students may also bring, if they desire, an owl OR a cat OR a toad OR a rat._

 _Yours sincerely,_

 _Ursula Bridget Freville_

 _Chief Attendant of Witchcraft Provisions_

"Can we get all this in London?" asked Will.

"Easily enough, if you know where to go," said Trimble.

Will coughed. "Sir… When it says ' _The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection_ by Quentin Trimble'…"

Trimble grinned. "Yes, that's me. It does come off a little conceited, assigning your own book - or so I think anyway - but I did write it specifically for teaching."

Will thought it was awfully clever, writing your own book, but thought it might be rude to inquire further. Instead, he turned to something else that made him curious. "Sir, what is the International Statue of Wizarding Secrecy?"

"Attentive little thing, aren't you?"

Will shrugged, not sure whether it was a compliment.

"It's one of the principal laws in the wizarding world. Its purpose is to stop muggles from finding out about us. Witches and wizards, that is."

"Why do wizards need to hide, sir?"

"That's a complicated question. The short version is that muggles hunted wizards and witches more and more, and that the magical world decided to withdraw to protect itself."

Will frowned. "Couldn't they have used magic to… stop muggles from hunting magical people?"

"Some wanted to. But the simple fact is that there are far more of them than there are of us. And that witches and wizards were tired of being hunted."

As Will tried to digest this new information, his eyes took in the sights of London rushing past. He had seen barely anything of the vast city and it intimidated him, but he was curious to see where this carriage would take them. Where in London could one buy such exotic supplies as cauldrons, robes and - most excitingly - wands?

The answer, it turned out, lay in a most inauspicious location indeed. The cab stopped in front of a dingy-looking pub with a slightly wonky sign affixed to the top: The Leaky Cauldron. Will's brow furrowed as he and Trimble got off, the professor looking as if this were the most natural thing in the world. Will started wondering whether this was all some bizarre joke as the man headed for the door of the disreputable establishment and held it open for his young charge.

When Will entered, his doubts instantly faded. Men and women in hats and robes sat in small cushy chairs and at the bar, chatting loudly with their shopping in open display. Will could see glasses full of mysterious substances including what looked suspiciously like eyes, a man holding a toad rather firmly while lecturing his friend on the ills of new broomstick regulations, a witch animatedly waving her wand to demonstrate a particular point. As Trimble moved Will determinedly through the humdrum, Will caught little snatches of conversation around him.

"- and they told me it was two sickles and I asked them whether they were insane -"

"- so the minister told me, he told me himself, that if the goblins were to trouble us again he'd -"

"- and when the Tornados seeker caught that snitch, I knew it was over for old Barty -"

"- but he said _they_ didn't have any awful teachers, so I do wonder how they manage it all so well -"

"- two sickles! Can you imagine?"

"Here we are, Will," said Trimble and led the boy through another door and into a small courtyard with a brick wall. He walked up to the wall and got out his wand. After tapping a brick, the whole wall started to shift and arrange itself anew to reveal a snug doorway. Will stared in wonder at this latest display of magic but did not get to pause for long as Trimble was already prodding him to continue.

"Welcome," he said as they stepped through the doorway, "to Diagon Alley."

Will's eyes almost dropped out. They had left ordinary London and in its place had found a world beyond his wildest dreams. As wizards and witches bustled around them, they rushed in and out of shops that made Will crane and turn his head in every direction. There were shops selling cauldrons, shops selling robes, an apothecary with a bright sign proclaiming 'fifty leeches for only a knut!', displays filled by odd instruments of silver and gold and rats jumping wildly in cages and books - oh the books! - piles of them with titles like _Curses for the Uncurseable_ or _What to Do When Fate Fires You_ or _The Codex of Invisibility and Other Strange Powers_. As Will stuck close to Trimble, almost having to break into a run sometimes to match the professor's long gait, he could barely keep control over his excitement. There was Ruggenall's Robes for Wizards & Witches, with two girls around Will's age standing outside:

"You know, I hope I'll be allowed to get one of those green hats."

"My mother won't buy me anything that isn't on the list!"

And there was a crowd of young children gathered outside Fletcher's Flying Supplies:

"That's the Lightning Strike Eight that is, fastest broom ever!"

"The Welsh have bought one for all of their players!"

"Can't make them fly any worse, not after that last world cup…"

And there, looming in front of them, was a huge marble building with a set of white stairs leading to burnished bronze doors.

"Gringotts," said Trimble. "That's the bank. We'll have to quickly pop in to get the allowance for muggle-raised children."

Panting slightly, Will followed the professor up the stairs. At the top stood a strange creature, short with a thin face and long fingers and dressed in a uniform of scarlet and gold. They clearly were not human and Will resolved to ask Trimble about them later… They passed him into a small entrance hall and walked up to another set of doors - silver this time - with a short poem engraved.

 _Enter, stranger, but take heed_

 _Of what awaits the sin of greed_

 _For those who take, but do not earn,_

 _Must pay most dearly in their turn._

 _So if you seek beneath our floors_

 _A treasure that was never yours,_

 _Thief, you have been warned, beware_

 _Of finding more than treasure there._

Will looked up uncertainly at Trimble, who merely raised his eyebrows.

"Don't steal from here and you'll be fine."

The boy gulped as he followed the professor into a vast marble hall filled with long counters and doors leading to what he could only assume were the vaults. Trimble headed straight to a creature who was not currently occupied with a customer but was instead languidly examining a set of documents.

"Good day," said Trimble. "I am here to withdraw an allowance for a muggle-raised Hogwarts student."

The creature, perched above his two customers, looked down slowly. "Name?"

"William Davis," said the professor.

The creature reached a hand into a drawer and withdrew a long list, scanning it for a time before alighting on a name right at the bottom. "This was a short-term request?"

"Yes. We only received notice of Mr Davis' residence in this country a short while ago."

"Very well. He is in first year?"

"Yes."

"Then he will receive the standard amount of five sickles, fifteen knuts and twenty obols. Is this satisfactory?"

"It is," said Trimble as Will frowned at the strange words.

"I require a signature here," said the creature and handed Will a form and a quill. Will awkwardly signed it against the counter with a spidery, unused signature, then handed it back. Next thing he knew, he had been handed a small pouch with a comforting clank and feel of coins.

As they left, Will peered inside to see a small collection of silver, bronze and iron coins.

"53 obols in a knut, 29 knuts in a sickle, 17 sickles in a galleon," said Trimble, watching him. "Sounds complicated but you'll catch on soon enough."

"How much is this worth, roughly?" asked Will.

"More than enough to buy you everything you need and get you through the year, though you might have to get a few things second hand," said Trimble. They had exited Gringotts and were now back in the busy street.

"And what were those… creatures, inside?"

"Those were goblins. You won't be taught about them in my subject but I would nevertheless advise you never to cross one."

Will shuddered a little. There was so much he did not know.

"Now then, how about we get you some robes?"

They headed down an alley of the side of Gringotts and into a small shop of second hand robes. Fifteen minutes later, Will once again emerged, now with sets of robes and a hat and other required school garments including a tie. It had been strange to don robes and a pointed had and he had felt a little silly inspecting himself in the mirror the first time, but he imagined he would get used to it quickly enough. Next, they headed back to the main street, past a particularly large bookshop named Flourish & Blott's and into Scribulus Writing Implements where Will got several quills and an impressive supply of ink. Tearing himself away from a display of glittering, colour-changing ink, they then entered Slug & Jigger's Apothecary. Will's senses were assaulted by the strange odours and sights that awaited him, with signs like 'bat spleens - 10 obols each' and 'ravens' eyes - 3 knuts to a pound' and 'dragon liver - 15 knuts an ounce'. Trimble dealt with the man at the counter as Will inspected some black beetle eyes for 10 obols a scoop. Was this what wizards used to make medicine? The ingredients seemed so bizarre - Will contemplated how exactly one might use horned slugs (13 knuts each) to cure colds.

But soon enough, Will had to leave the displays, now equipped with a standard potion kit bag containing some of the supplies he would need for potions. Regrettably, he did not have time to inspect this new treasure before he was taken to Wiseacre's Wizarding Equipment. Next to it was a brightly coloured shop called Tiploft's Tricks and Treats with small fireworks exploding and clowns' heads flying in the window sill that Will would have dearly liked to enter, but Trimble regarded it rather huffily and steered the boy determinedly past it. Soon, Will had a pewter cauldron, a set of glass phials, a telescope and a set of scales. It felt very exciting to pay for all of this with his own money and he did not think he had ever gotten this many things at once.

But the best was still to come. Trimble took his bags off him as they entered the second hand bookshop next to a café. Will could barely contain his delight as he raced from pile to pile, looking at books about werewolves and alchemy and wandlore and the dark arts… Trimble watched him with some amusement as he asked the shopkeeper for the first year set of books.

"Keen reader, are you?"

Will looked at Trimble with wide eyes. "There's… so much here!"

The professor snorted. "Headed for Ravenclaw, I suspect."

Will did not have time to interrogate this mysterious remark and instead excitedly rifled through books about wizarding history and custom.

"You can get a lot of books in the Hogwarts library," said Trimble. "If you want anything we don't have, you can always order it."

Nevertheless, Will asked the professor rather nervously if he could buy a copy of _Magical Maladies: How to Treat Everything from the Common Cold to Dragon Pox_.

"What do you want that for?" asked Trimble.

"Just some light reading, sir," mumbled Will.

Despite looking suspicious, Trimble let the boy buy the book. Now thoroughly weighted down by bags, Will stumbled back down Diagon Alley with the professor walking alongside him.

"I think we have everything - except a wand!"

Will's heart beat faster. This was surely the most exciting thing he needed. A wand like the one Trimble had, one that would allow him to do real magic! He could hardly wait.

On the other side of the street, another shop caught his attention. Eeylop's Owl Emporium was just next to Wiseacre's Wizarding Equipment and just at that moment there seemed to be a loud commotion and the sound of many birds flapping around excitedly inside.

"Wonder what happened there," said Trimble, seeing where Will was looking. "Maybe some kid let off a dungbomb inside, happens every year."

"Are owls common pets in the wizarding world?" asked Will, recalling the Hogwarts letter.

"They're used to deliver the post. Most families have one."

"Do I need one to keep in touch with my parents?" asked Will with a frown. It struck him suddenly that it seemed unlikely normal post would reach Hogwarts.

"No, you can use school owls. Don't worry about it."

And indeed, Will put it out of his mind, for at that moment they stood in front of a rather shabby-looking shop with peeling gold letters over the door of the shop that read _Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 BC_. Several wands lay in the display on plush green pillows and there were several posters displaying - _moving_! - figures waving long sticks emitting colourful sparks.

"Go on," said Trimble, taking the other bags from Will. "You get your wand; I'll wait here with all the shopping."

Will took a deep breath and entered, the door opening with a painful creak and a merry jingling of bells. He proceeded to the middle of the seemingly empty store, thinking how small it was. There was not much in it apart from a counter in one corner and a few chairs in the other. Against the walls were stacked thousands of narrow boxes right to the ceiling.

Just then, a spindly man emerged from a door in the corner. He had a rather harrowed, tired look around him and took one look at Will before nodding decisively.

"First year? Here for a wand?"

"Yes," said Will, then realised he had not made an audible sound because his throat was so dry. He cleared his throat and tried again: "Yes, sir."

"Good. Hmm, looking at you…" He inspected the boy more closely and brought out a tape measure. With a snap of his fingers, the tape measure proceeded to measure his various limbs as the man looked on. "Wand arm?"

"Eh… I'm right handed."

The man, who Will assumed was Ollivander, snapped his fingers again and the tape measure fell to the ground. He proceeded to remove one of the thin boxes and opened it to reveal a wand.

"Here, take this one. Blackthorn with horn extract from a particularly fine graphorn. Ten and three quarter inches, nice and swishy."

Will picked up the wand and was about to wave it when Ollivander took it from him.

"No… That's not right. Try this one. Sycamore with dragon heartstring. A fairly bendy thirteen inches."

He tried to wave it but once again the wand left his hand before it could.

"Hmm… Oh, I know! Alder and kelpie hair, unyielding. Twelve and a quarter inches."

But once again, the wandmaker was dissatisfied. As Will tested several more wands, he wondered what exactly the man was looking for. How could he even tell if a wand chose him?

"Acacia and unicorn hair. Twelve and three quarter inches. Slightly springy. Go on, give it a wave."

As Will gripped the wand, a warmth instantly spread through his arm. He waved it and silver dust poured out of it, covering everything around him so that it shimmered.

"Oh, excellent!"

"That was great!" a new voice said and Will looked up to see a grinning girl look down at him. She climbed down the ladder and stuck out her arm. "I'm Gwen. I'm starting Hogwarts this year too."

Will shifted the wand and shook the hand. "Will. Pleased to meet you." He realised that this must be a school for both girls and boys, though it should have been obvious from the mention of _Witchcraft_ in the school's title…

"Nice wand that chose you. Mine's cedar and kelpie hair, eleven and a half inches, fairly supple. I got it earlier this summer."

"Gwenaëlle! You have to stop doing this," said the old man. "I'm sorry, my daughter is incorrigible."

"It's fine, sir," said Will.

"Gervaise, I told you to keep an eye out on her!" called Ollivander.

A haggard-looking boy looked over the rails and groaned. "How can I, father? I swear, that girl can apparate…"

"Go up," said Ollivander to Gwen.

"I'll see you in Hogwarts," said Gwen and reluctantly climbed back up the ladder.

"That'll be two sickles, please."

Will paid, then left the store with the narrow box clasped firmly in his hands. He had a wand! And he had met one of the people he would be going to Hogwarts with. He grinned at Trimble when he emerged.

"Happy with your wand?" asked Trimble, raising an eyebrow.

"Very."

"Good. Now that's all done with, how about I get you some hot chocolate before bringing you back home?"

Will's eyes widened. "That would be amazing, sir!"

Ten minutes later, they were seated in Bexley's Bubbling Coffeeshop with a plate of cookies and a mug of hot chocolate for Will and a cup of coffee for Trimble, which he sipped at slowly. Will showed no such restraint and bit into the cookies with relish. They were far better than rations.

"There's still a month before term starts but I'm sure you can keep yourself more than busy with your textbooks. I'd advise you against doing any… experiments outside of the safe confines of Hogwarts, however. You cannot be punished for using magic outside of school yet, but it is not recommended."

Will nodded. He had no intention of getting in trouble before even getting to school. If he could avoid it. "I was wondering, sir," he said, thinking back to the encounter in Ollivander's, "do most students come from magical households?"

Trimble nodded. "The vast majority do. But there are a few raised by muggles. I wouldn't worry about that; in my experience those raised by muggles do no worse academically than those raised by wizards."

"But it's not only about academics, is it?" asked Will, a little frustration entering his voice. "There are so many customs, traditions, that wizard children have learnt since infancy and that I'll be unaware of! How will I not make a fool of myself?"

Trimble regarded him closely. "Most children raised in magical households would never hold it against you. And I'd advise you to avoid associating with the ones who do."

"That might not be my choice to make," muttered Will.

"You are entering a world governed by a set of complex rules and laws. While your classmates may have something of a head start over you, you'd do well to remember that they don't know everything either. Instead of worrying uselessly about it, all you can do is throw yourself into it. Don't be afraid to ask questions. Certainly don't be afraid to make a fool of yourself. Otherwise, you won't learn anything."

Will regarded the deputy headmaster sceptically after this little speech. It was all fine for _him_ to say that it was fine to make a fool of yourself, but he wouldn't have to deal with these kids for seven years. If there was one thing Will knew, it was that children were vicious, and he suspected magical children were just the same as non-magical ones in that regard. He sighed. The professor was probably right - there was no point in worrying about it.

They finished their drinks, then departed from Diagon Alley with bulging bags. Back through the Leaky Cauldron and into the muggle world once more. It was a warm afternoon. Will looked around as the waited for the cab, struck by how ordinary everything was. How strange to imagine that a whole, magical world was just out of sight.

Trimble apparated in front of the door to the apartment. Will took it slightly better than the first time, but he still felt like throwing up. He could not imagine ever getting used to this magical mode of transport.

"I'll leave you here," said Trimble. "Here's your ticket. Second of September, 11 o'clock at King's Cross. I'll see you then."

Will accepted the thin slip of paper and inspected it. _London to Hogwarts for One Way Travel_. _Platform Nine and Three Quarters_. "Platform Nine and Three Quarters?" asked Will. "I don't think there's a Platform Nine and Three Quarters!" He looked up, but the professor was already gone.


End file.
